“Time is a slippery thing: lose hold of it once, and its string might sail out of your hands forever.”

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

There’s a sentimental ditty by Neil Diamond, called ‘Hello’:

“Hello, my friend, hello
Just called to let you know
I think about you every night
And I know it’s late but I could’t wait

It makes me a little tearful because my Dad loved Neil Diamond, and he’s gone too far away to make contact with. But also because I’m a sucker for an old ballad.

You know when you have an old friend or relative that you get on very well with, but you hardly ever see? Continue reading Hello!

Springtime in Photos

“Spring drew on…and a greenness grew over those brown beds, which, freshening daily, suggested the thought that Hope traversed them at night, and left each morning brighter traces of her steps.”

Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë

From indoors, yesterday was a beautiful day. The sun shone brightly and I hurried out to work. As I stepped onto the pavement a bracing wind caught my light leather jacket, tugged at my loosely-wrapped scarf and made my feet feel naked in my sockless pumps.

Some snippets of March and April (all photos are captioned if you click on them): Continue reading Springtime in Photos

Days out part 2: Libraries, secret passageways and the last Whipping Boy

“It sounded like something in a book and it did not make Mary feel cheerful. A house with a hundred rooms, nearly all shut up and with their doors locked—a house on the edge of a moor—whatsoever a moor was—sounded dreary. A man with a crooked back who shut himself up also! She stared out of the window with her lips pinched together, and it seemed quite natural that the rain should have begun to pour down in gray…”

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

secret garden fulham palace
Our very own secret garden at Fulham Palace.

I looked around to see if anyone was watching. You particularly need to be careful of the room guides. Hubby had wondered off to look at another formulaic painting by Sir Peter Lely. I was safe. Between the great hall and the Duke of Lauderdale’s bed chamber I’d spotted a small door. ‘Staff only’, it stated. This, I suspected, led to a small servants’ passageway. Continue reading Days out part 2: Libraries, secret passageways and the last Whipping Boy

Getting a spring in my step and a severe case of the burbles

“Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing.”

The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

It took me three attempts to name these early spring flowers in St James Park. It’s my mama and grandmama who really have the green fingers.

Almost every morning I wakeup with BBC Radio 4 news. When there is a lull in the news, I imagine the mad clamour in the news room to get hold of the latest obscure findings of some crazy new study.

Science is useful of course, but I’m amazed that our nation’s brains have the time or money, for example, to don their white coats and spend hours in a lab conducting experiments with a sofa and a remote control. Continue reading Getting a spring in my step and a severe case of the burbles

1st September

“Cords of saliva would collect on her lips; she would draw them in, then open her mouth again. Her mouth seemed to have a private existence of its own. It worked separate and apart from the rest of her, out and in, like a clam hole at low tide. Occasionally it would say, “Pt,” like some viscous substance coming to a boil.”

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

new seasonTuesday’s 1st September inspiration: a beautiful description from a novel which blew me away with its beauty at the time of reading it as a teenager, and still does. Some of my readers will know that part of the reason I write a weekly blog (occasionally more frequently) is because I want to live my life with purpose, on purpose, reflecting on life’s ups and downs and to be accountable. A little Birdie, my Hubby, my writer sister and my faith inspired me to start.

The other reason is because they say that if you want to call yourself a writer you need to write every day. Nyamazela.com accounts for 1 or 2 days a week. Continue reading 1st September